


Loquacious

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [192]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M, awkwardness at a crime scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 06:50:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6505612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>loquacious: adjective: lōˈkwā SHəs: tending to talk a great deal; talkative.</p>
<p>mid 17th century: from Latin loquax, loquac- (from loqui ‘talk’) + -ious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loquacious

John was following Sherlock's loquacious explanation of the crime scene, the recitation arrogant and drawn out as usual, when he noticed the sudden absolute stillness. He looked at Lestrade who was attempting to smother a grin, at Donovan who did not bother to hide a look of shock and what was it, dismay?

"What did you say?" John stood up from where he had been kneeling near the victim. Sherlock's face had turned a lovely shade of crimson, and his mouth was a tight, straight line. John didn't think those lips were capable of that particular contortion.

"You know I am loath to repeat myself, John." Sherlock's voice barely above a whisper as he looked everywhere but his flatmate's questioning eyes. "Lestrade, I, uhm, believe I have given you all you require?" He strode off, not looking back to see if John was in his normal two paces back position.

'Uhm...what did he say?" John asked Lestrade as they were packing up their equipment. 

Lestrade shook his head. "Mate, I do believe, that he, in the midst of a lengthy deduction of the fifth victim of a serial killer, admitted feelings of, uhm, attraction and 'feelings' for you."

"No, he did not." John blinked several times and looked to see Sherlock hop in a cab.   
He paused and slowly sank to his knees, then sighed and whispered, "what the hell do I do now?"

"Well, I do believe the metaphorical ball is in your court, John. I think it surprised him too. Go home and talk to him, yeah?"

John nodded his thanks and decided to walk the two miles home, even as the skies opened up. Damn. He shrugged down into his coat and tried to think, was there something he had missed? Perhaps it was this case, young military men were being targeted, and Sherlock was struggling with it. Very little physical evidence, but they were all killed the same way, definitely the same killer. He hadn't slept for a week, usually at some point, he would crash on the couch and sleep for a few hours. But it was different this time, he needed to get this guy off the street, it was consuming him. Perhaps it was simple exhaustion. John nodded to himself, hoping he would find Sherlock sound asleep when he got back to the flat.

No such luck. Sherlock was still in his coat and scarf, luckily he had missed the deluge that had just soaked John to the bone.

"Hey."

"Okay, I'm going to get a shower and warm up, then I'm going to make tea, and then we are going to talk."

"You're going to leave." Sherlock whispered, his head tucked into his chest as he sat dejectedly on the couch.

"Uhm, no. NO. Where did you get that idea from?" John dropped in front of him, not caring about the carpet or Sherlock's ridiculous Italian shoes. "Look at me, please?"  
He used a trembling finger, trembling from the cold and the unknown, and tilted Sherlock's face to look him in the eyes. He was afraid of what he would find in his friend's beautiful eyes. Damn, they are beauti-I've always thought so...

His eyes were bloodshot, but still the bright green light shone through them and fixated on John. "You don't want to be in a relationship with me," he sighed, and pushed his hands through his hair; then returned his gaze to the floor.

"I've been in a relationship with you since the day we met, idiot. Will you stay right here and let me take a shower before I ruin your shoes and the carpet?"

Sherlock nodded though he didn't look up.

Half an hour later, John was wrapped in his pajamas, robe and slippers and had pushed a hot mug of tea into Sherlock's slightly quaking hands.

"Is it the case? You are pushing yourself harder than usual, you haven't slept or eaten in a week..?"

"I dunno, John. I was deducing the scene as usual, and all of a sudden, I found myself telling you.."

"Telling me what exactly? I missed it, I was listening as I always do, but then I started watching you and I lost focus. You should've seen Donovan's face, I wish I'd thought to take a snap, but then you walked away..."

Sherlock put the tea down, got up from the couch, and walked to the window. "I said, 'It's the same killer, left handed, strong hands, man or exceptionally strong woman, the marks are the same...Oh, and John, just so you know, we need more milk on the way home and I love you.' "

"Ah, no wonder her eyes bugged out. I'm not laughing, Sherlock, will you come sit with me, please?"

He turned from the window and slowly walked to the couch. John patted the spot next to him and he sank down, closing his eyes, too tired to think anymore. John cautiously took the hand that was pressed into the cushion. "I'm not leaving you, because I love you, too. I, damnit, I didn't know...was afraid to tell you, you know how I am with this kind of thing."

Sherlock nodded, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips. "But...I thought..."

"I've had relationships with women and men, all of them miserable failures. They didn't drive me crazy, or try to poison me, wake me at all hours for a case, or disrupt a date; no one has ever measured up to you. Even before I met you, nothing lasted too long, I got bored too easily. You, love, are not boring, could never be boring." He held Sherlock's hand to lips and kissed his knuckles lightly. "You are remarkable, brilliant..." 

He stopped babbling as he heard a slight snore from the space next to him. John grinned, bent to untie the slightly dampened shoes, removed them carefully and placed them by the door. He rearranged his flatmate on the couch and covered him with the quilt, poured himself another cup of tea and stood at the window to watch the rain come down.


End file.
